


making an impression

by LydiaOfNarnia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Potentially Radioactive Casserole, tab is trying really hard to be a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: Shifty doesn't need a Prince Charming, but damned if Floyd isn't going to try to be one anyway.





	making an impression

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

A benefit of growing up without much money or many things to spend it on was that you had to learn to do a lot of things on your own. Shifty's been independent from a young age. He knows how to do a lot of things; and as for what he hasn't figured out yet, he's a fast learner. He can clean for himself, cook for himself, and even do his own taxes. Being taken care of isn't something he's used to.

That's why it's a little weird when he starts dating Floyd, who suddenly wants to do _everything_ for him.

"Don't worry about those," Floyd says, easing Shifty aside when he starts cleaning the dishes after dinner. "I'll take care of them for you."

"I just noticed you hadn't gotten to them yet," Floyd explains, surrounded by piles of messily folded laundry. "I figured I'd do it while you were out!"

"It's okay," Floyd tells him, despite being halfway buried beneath the weight of three massive garbage bags as he hauls them out the door. "I've got this!"

Floyd's concern is touching, really. Shifty doesn't think he's very good with people, but even he can figure out where it comes from. Floyd's had a lot of girlfriends, but Shifty is his first boyfriend. He's feeling out new territory (they both are -- Floyd is Shifty's first relationship, period) and he's trying to overcompensate to make up for it.

Floyd is used to being competent. He's used to being good at things, and he likes showing off. That's what this is, decides Shifty -- he's just trying to prove he's boyfriend material. As the novelty of their relationship wears off, Floyd will calm down.

Except he _doesn't_ calm down, even after they've been dating for well over two months. Floyd still insists on opening doors for Shifty, on doing chores around the house, and "taking care" of things that Shifty is perfectly capable of doing himself. This isn't awful. It's annoying, but Shifty could almost learn to live with it.

Until the night Floyd decides to make dinner.

"I'm a damn good chef," says Floyd.

"Yes," Shifty agrees. "You are."

This is a lie. Floyd couldn't cook his way out of a paper bag, even if the bag was dripping wet and half torn open already. Shifty's mamma always taught him not to lie, but sometimes there are situations where there's no other option. Floyd's ego is one of these cases. If it makes his boyfriend feel better, Shifty is willing to lie until his tongue shrivels up and falls out of his mouth.

However, he's not sure if he's willing to go so far as to eat Floyd's cooking.

It looks like it's breathing, and that's the least scary thing about it. The excess of sauce makes it resemble a crime scene more than a casserole; there are crisped vegetables in places Shifty knows vegetables should not be; and the longer he looks, the less of a clue he has as to what it actually is.

He forces a smile on his face as he looks up at his boyfriend again. Floyd looks self-assured as ever -- it's kind of painful.

"Uhh... what recipe did you use?"

"I found it on the internet," Floyd says proudly, and Shifty shrinks away from the tray as if it tried to bite him.

His eyes wander in desperation to look anywhere but at the charred cookies, and he comes to a disturbing realization: there's egg on the walls. Not only is the sink filled with dirty bowls, not only is the counter dusted with flour, pepper, and errant parsley flakes, somehow Floyd managed to get _egg on the wall._ Shifty doesn't know how, he doesn't know _why_ , but there is no question in his mind that his boyfriend shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the kitchen.

“Well?” says Floyd, leaning forward. There is an eagerness in his eyes that hits Shifty like a physical blow, and he tries not to wince as he looks away. “Come on, taste it. Be honest. It's pretty good, right?”

Shifty steels himself and grabs the fork. What does he have to lose? At the worst, he'll get food poisoning, and he's dealt with worse before. He's not allergic to any ingredients or spices, so chances are Floyd’s dish won't actually kill him. If he survives the first taste, it can't possibly get any worse.

This is what he tells himself until the first bite hits his tongue, and he immediately chokes. It's not as bad as it looks -- it's worse. At least it looks a bit like food, but Shifty is almost certain he's eating rotten vegetables covered in uncooked tomato paste. The sauce carries a heavy taste of chalk, and Shifty’s mouth is dry after just a bite. He reaches for his water glass (Floyd got him that too, the sweetheart) and chugs half of it before setting it down on the table.

“I know how to cook,” is all he says once he's caught his breath again.

Floyd blinks at him, baffled. Shifty opens his mouth, has to pause to cough away some of the awful aftertaste, before sighing and turning back to his boyfriend. “I used to make dinners for my gran when she got too sick to do it herself. My mamma taught me how to make anything edible, and I can cook with just about anything. Give me something, I'll make a meal out of it.”

Floyd looks puzzled by the tangent. It's a lot more than Shifty usually says, and he seems lost on the point. “I know you can cook,” he says, an uncertain smile playing across his lips. “You're a great cook, but I thought I'd --”

“I love that you're trying so hard,” Shifty says, pushing the plate aside, “but never, never have I tasted anything like that in my life. I wish I meant that in a good way.”

Now Floyd’s getting it. His face falls. “Is it… bad?”

In response, Shifty just passes him the fork; he was already reaching for it. Floyd takes one bite of the meal, blanches, and spits the mouthful in the sink. Shifty passes him the water and pats his back in sympathy until his coughing fit subsides.

“Christ,” Floyd swears. “That tastes like goddamn sawdust. What did I _do?”_

Shifty doesn't know, and at this point he's a little afraid to find out. For lack of anything better, he just squeezes Floyd’s shoulder and says, “You tried.”

Dinner winds up being a much more casual affair after Floyd’s cooking misadventure is dealt with (it won't come out of the pan, and they have to throw it away; Shifty mourns). They wind up making homemade pizza instead. Shifty watches Floyd roll the dough into a perfect circle, arrange the ingredients, and even turn on the oven; but he is the one responsible for decorating the pizza. They carefully monitor the cooking time together, both hovering in the kitchen like expectant parents. When the pie finally comes out of the oven, Floyd gets to do the honors of cutting it.

“This was fun,” Floyd says at the end of the night. His chin is hooked over Shifty’s shoulder; the words are murmured into his neck, close enough that Shifty can feel the vibrations in the space beneath his ear. He shivers, and when he turns to look at Floyd there is a small smile on his face.

“It's awful sweet of you to try to take care of me,” he tells him, “but I say we're much better doing things as a team. What do you think?”

Floyd sighs and smiles at him in return, planting a light kiss on his cheek. “I think you've definitely got a point.”

Shifty knows that old habits die hard, but he dares to hope that he and Floyd may have just made a breakthrough.


End file.
